Captured: Once Upon a Headline
by the.clairvoyance
Summary: A picture is worth a thousand words.


**Captured (aka Once Upon a Headline)**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to CBS or the television program CSI: NY.

**Pairing:** Mac/Stella with hints of Danny/Lindsay and Flack/Angell.

**Genre:** Friendship, humour, and romance.

**Rating:** K+

**Summary:** A picture is worth a thousand words.

**Author's Note:** This has been lazing around my computer for what feels like decades. I hope that you all enjoy it and ignore the fact that this was written before season seven.

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><p>Nicholas finds no particular enjoyment in wearing polished shoes or three-piece suits. He also hates having to shave more than once a week and smiling like he means it when he—so sincerely—does not. Most of all Nicholas hates wearing neckties and he has now convinced himself have been designed for the purpose of being used as leashes as well as a method of committing suicide during bouts of extreme boredom. Unfortunately for the very well dressed man, he does not have much of a choice in the matter of whether he can wear a tie or not, at least not when he is dragged out on <em>official business<em>.

At the moment the room is crowded with socialites who are chatting, grinning, and dancing. He has been wandering about the ballroom for the past thirty or forty minutes, nodding his head in acknowledgment and stopping only briefly to fill up on quiche and to shake the hands and kiss the cheeks of people whose names he cannot—and does not—wish to recall but belong to "important" people, apparently. Their status, however, hardly registers with him as he scans the room as if hunting for prey.

Then, among the sea of shimmering gowns and black and white suits, his eyes land on the statuesque form of the person whom he had arrived with and who had quickly scurried away from him as he had been busying himself with putting their belongings in the coat check. He somehow manages to maneuver himself through the unholy amount of party-goers to finally reach his destination.

"There's my little shutterbug!" He calls over the sound of the music and socializing happening all around them, it is not necessary but he is feeling superstitious and out of place in this new environment.

Swiftly, the woman he is addressing spins around on a heel and blinds him with the bright gold flash followed by amorphous colour splotches that make Nicholas head swim. Momentarily, he is taken aback but recovers quickly by blinking rapidly and grasping her bare shoulders, the ones that her beautiful and outrageously priced dress is not designed to cover, under the guise of keeping his balance. The strap of her little black purse slips down a shoulder and gingerly he fixes it back in place.

"Nick!" She gasps from behind a camera that takes up more than half her face. The woman recovers quickly, "see anything you like yet?"

It is a rhetorical question if Nicholas as ever heard one but he, feeling fun deprived since he arrived, decides to answer her anyway. "Yeah, cute little redhead waitress with the double Ds."

One blonde eyebrow raises and she languidly replies, "got milk?"

Nicholas stops her before she can turn away and into the crowd by tucking his palm into the crook of her elbow, turning her into him and straightening up the instant he realizes she has her camera angled up at him once again, doubling as a lethal weapon. Sometimes he forgets what she is like when she's not hiding behind that camera lens of hers, when it is she who is being studied and admired instead of the other way around. He takes her wrists in his hands and drags them down so that he can drop a kiss on her lips and for one perfect moment she is utterly confused. It isn't common for either one of them to initiate affection in a public setting, especially when they are on duty.

"Look but don't look," she murmurs against the corner of Nicholas' lips. "One thirty five."

Nicholas keeps his body focused on the camerawoman but sets his peripheral vision on the rest of the room. "Mine or yours?"

He asks this while using a tone that is evidently far less interested in whatever she wants to show him but instead intent on making the whole conversation sound lewd, in fact Nicholas can make a phone conversation with a solicitor inappropriate with such little effort that it almost frightens the camerawoman, and yet she never fails to hide how creeped out / impressed she is long enough to chide her male counterpart. Tonight is different though; she would reprimand him, Nicholas is certain of that much, if she weren't so keen on whatever had caught her eye at one thirty five. Humoring her, Nicholas locates it and analyzes.

Dumbly he asks, "the man and the woman?"

Scoffing, she turns into him so that her back is pressed to his front. "And you call yourself a writer."

"Fine, gimme a sec." He wraps an arm around her mid-section and tugs her into him, camouflaging his invading inspection of the two with an affectionate pose. With his vision narrowed and his attention undivided, Nicholas nonchalantly reads the body language that will later foster the verbal.

"Intimate but not married, not even to each other." He adds the second teasingly and feels an elbow nudge him in response so he continues. "She's confidant and enjoying herself; a natural and not just at dancing but at acting out this whole scene."

She arches against his chest, under his chin, and into his embrace feigning interest in the music and the waiters with their food trays but Nicholas notices how her eyes never stray a millimeter too far from the dancing duo.

"What about the man?" She queries, nodding her head in their remote direction, and effectively musing some her blonde bangs.

"Not exactly my type and need I remind you that you arrived here with _me_."

Nicholas doesn't even bother checking to see her overplayed eye roll response. "_Nic_."

It never ceases to amaze Nicholas how this woman can manage to make his name sound like a curse word so he resigns and answers his companion seriously. "He's a natural too, not at dancing and not at social situations—Hell, he's probably allergic to the ladder—but he's holding her and not missing any little detail. They came into together, separated to mingle, regrouped and debriefed, he refreshed their drinks and she convinced him to dance."

"How?"

Is it Nicholas' imagination playing tricks on him or had his blonde partner turned friend turned date du jour sounded incredibly breathy just then?

"With wistful eyes," he answers without peeling his eyes away. "She gets everything with her eyes, bet she has a knock out smile too."

In his half embrace, Nicholas can feel her turning. "Why?"

"Because the ones with the pretty eyes have the pretty smile and you can't have one without the other; the lips reveal how we feel and the eyes confirm or deny it."

Then—suddenly _and_ wonderfully—Nicholas feels a set of lips on his and fingertips on the back of his neck making all of the hairs stand up on end. She is initiating the contact this time and it's no show and it isn't a distraction either, it's just the two of them letting go and giving in again and again and again. When she lets go of his kiss, which is about two seconds after Nicholas has his hands on her hips, she is only semi-breathless and looking at him with those eyes that she likes to keep glued to her camera, away from anyone who can read them for the open book that they are. "That's why _you're_ the writer, Nick."

Nicholas pretends not to be blown away and instead chuffs his head in the couple's general direction. "What about them? They seem to have caught your attention and they look good for it and think of all the writing material, I'd be in business for life if I chronicled these two."

"Hmm," she hums as she is turning to face them once more. "The good life too but you know the deal; no repeats, too many missed opportunities otherwise."

Sighing, Nicholas watches the man twirl the woman not too far out from him and then back to him, her hair flying everywhere and unabashed grin blazing across her face.

"Too bad too, huh? Coz' you can totally tell that he's into the field of piecing things together, analyzing and experimenting from the safe side of the spectrum. Odds are he is real simple too, maybe a bit intimidating with his personality and how he switches from conventional to defiant the second someone challenges. And this chick, what's your bet that she is brazen and no nonsense—something that they've got in common and makes for lots of fireworks—but can be real down to earth and speaks without thinking first because her heart beats her to it?"

Nicholas doesn't know where it comes from, not really anyway. He's used to making up stories based on things that are obvious and things that are subtle although, on occasion, Nicholas will pull shit out of the air and piece it together. This time, however, Nicholas could not help but notice the signs of true amusement on the woman's face as she mixed and mingled and the graceful and self-assured steps that she took in her high-heeled shoes as well as the dance she was currently participating in. The man had been a perfect gentleman to his female counterpart the entire time Nicholas had seen them together but it seemed like it went deeper than classic chivalry.

For some reason she looks like she's in awe and as if she is seeing him in some dimension that she has never seen before. "Nick, if you proposed at this very moment I'd have to agree."

Teasing her, Nicholas pretends to consider this before breaking his character to shoo her off to the couple that is dancing into the next song, and are talking amongst themselves. He watches as his little shutterbug glides through the ocean of party-goers, exposing her slightly curved back to his very interested eyes as well as swaying her tortuous hips for what he believes is simply for the reaction he knows she knows he'll have. In search of something to drink, hopefully something that is alcoholic, Nicholas tries not to let his mind stray back to the nameless couple that his partner-friend-lover is infatuated with at the moment. But she, unlike him, is often fickle, a quality that he likes to blame on her artistic personality disorder.

However, when she comes back to him with her camera in tow and she is claiming that she wants to leave shortly even before she got to socialize or eat or even dance, which is odd behavior for her. Nicholas—concerned and questioning—checks her for a fever but she rolls her cobalt eyes, and assures him that everything is just fine and that she wants to leave as soon as she gets one little thing done. She kisses his cheek and neck and behind the ear in thanks for letting her talk him into coming along and he accepts it with a sultry smirk and a murmured dirty comment.

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><p>"I can't believe that I actually convinced you to dance." Stella states in a disbelieving voice as her partner of how many years leads them in a simple dance, one that she had mastered at such a young age that it could be considered second nature to her now.<p>

"Why not?" Mac asks her as he steps to the sound of the music, paying half attention to his movements as well as the party surrounding him whilst focusing the other half on his friend.

"You're not _that_ bad," he teases because in all honestly Stella is the best partner he could have asked for, both for on the job and off. Spinning her, Mac watches as the Greek woman whirls into to the rest of the dance floor and then twirls back towards him.

Stella is absolutely beautiful—although this is no surprise to Mac at all—and it is not just because she had likely spent more than a solid hour doing her hair and makeup, getting dressed and accessorizing before he picked her up from her place but for the fact that she is really enjoying herself on the dance floor and being in Mac's company. Temporarily the CSI ponders pulling her closer so that the space between them is non-existent and he can blend his black suit in with her matching black sequined dress. Instead he keeps his hand on her lower back, his other clasped in her glove-clad hand and relaxes with her hand between his shoulder as well as the back of his neck.

"Can you believe what a big deal this party is?" The Greek questions as she sways along to a song that neither she or Mac knows the name of. "The mayor is going all out for this one; you can spot the press from a mile away."

Mac represses the great desire to look amused and roll his eyes at his partner's statement. Events like these always had "important" people trawling for brownie points and their picture in the paper, of course there would be press, why else would anyway host such an extravagant and "private" party just to mingle and drink? The two could have gone with the team to Sullivan's for that.

"Then how—or rather _why—_did you talk me into coming?"

In response, Stella smirks and twirls out and in once again. "Because I needed a new dress anyway."

Humored, the Chicago born CSI holds his friend to him and barely registers that the song is now, gradually changing into yet another song, this one is less slow than the first but that just makes speaking easier and the couples surrounding them are slowly dividing into individual bodies again instead of opting to remain entangled in each others' limbs and kisses.

They continue to dance with just enough space between them for it to be considered non-romantic but close enough to let everyone else know that they're attending the party together and will be going home together, although the ladder isn't as sexual as what onlookers may assume. For a moment Mac lets the lyrics of some Bryan Adams song run through his head while he people watches over Stella's shoulder and when she notices that he's gone she doesn't vocalize it but instead follows his eyes to the approximate area where they are set.

When she finds what her friend has his eyes on, Stella acknowledges the subjects as a man and a woman; the man with his arm around the empire waist of the young woman's chalk white dress, the colour of which is contrasting beautifully with the black lace inset below her breasts. On her wrist is a thin black purse and the strap around her neck attaches to a digital camera; behind her the man is murmuring in her ear and she is nodding along, even smiling slightly at whatever it is he is saying. The Greek woman turns back to her best friend and cocks an eyebrow at him and his lingering gaze on the couple as if she is surprised to see him snooping.

"They're not wearing engagement rings." Mac informs his partner as he continues the motions of the dance with a renewed playfulness in his eyes and tone of voice.

"But they're cute," Stella comments as she follows Mac's lead. "Why the camera; member of the press?"

Shrugging, Mac twirls Stella again and watches as the curls fly. "Looks like you're going to find out; she's coming this way."

The woman catches Stella's eyes and it may just be the CSI's imagination but there was something in the way her lips twitched or something sparking her eyes. She lets it go, focusing instead on her dance partner, who is leading her back into place: next to him. As the woman approaches them, now within earshot, the detectives share a look and a small smile. A flash of light explodes between them and spots every colour of the rainbow blur their vision, Stella tips her head in dizziness and Mac lets his grip on her grow firmer.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ask to cut in."

Every shade of blonde hair and a truly wicked grin, the photographer is even prettier up close. Subtly, Stella drops her hands from Mac's, and turns to face the younger woman.

"Member of the press?"

It doesn't surprise the blonde and she doesn't hesitate to answer: "member of the stress."

Mac smiles, Stella laughs, and the photographer tugs her camera to her, resisting the insatiable desire to snap up this moment with a dozen or so candid pictures. She looks between the pair before her and realizes that no matter how many photos she had of these two there would be know way to capture what is between them right now.

Actually, that is one of the reasons why she loves being behind the lenses, so much: evidence of something special. Maybe it's a wonderful moment or a heart breaking one or the subject is simply absurd but it is there on a digital screen or glossy print in her hands, and there is no way to deny it. It says more and speaks louder than any one person ever could.

"They always want photographers swarming these shindigs in the hopes that we snap up a couple good shots to send around to the papers and the higher ups, leaving a good impression on them."

Of course the CSIs know what to expect—been there, done that—but it is almost refreshing to know that others have a mutual disinterest in the outings. It's one thing to have a celebration of drinks, dancing, and socializing and another to trawl for brownie points and make big deals out of donations that are meant to be charitable in nature instead of for the glamor that gala with the promise of press (thus the petite photographer) assures. That's what rubs the detectives the wrong way about city organized social events.

"Well hopefully the rest of the evening will remain as uneventful as it has been all evening; our last gala wasn't so lucky." The Greek woman replies with a light tone with something lying beneath it that the young blonde doesn't catch in her tone but instead in her facial features. One could say she is something of a visual learner.

"Oh, I heard about that one. A dead body fell from the balloons, right?"

The conversation carries, light and just scraping the surface of friendly chatting and unfamiliarity, which is only somewhat lost on the photographer. Thankfully, in an act of sheer dumb luck on everyone's part an interruption in the form of a six-foot tall man swoops in to save the evening. Dark brown hair and mismatched irises, the man offers a charming grin to the detectives before turning to the petite woman in the black gown.

"There you are," the man is speaking to the blonde at his side, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, his hand finding its place on the small of her back. It is endearing, really, but the photographer doesn't seem to notice, too entranced in the couple standing before her.

Business before pleasure and all that.

"Did I wander off again? Sorry about that but now I'm all wrapped up for the evening."

"It's quite alright but the car's here and we've got reservations."

Being the gentleman that he was raised to be, Mac offers his hand to the young woman who takes it with a shy smile before doing the same with the man who is likely around the blonde woman's age. There is no name exchange or other such social niceties, only Stella nodding her head politely and offering a gracious smile and the younger couple excusing themselves for the evening. Once they are gone the CSIs make their way off of the dance floor and to a cluster of tables covered in deep coloured cloth, the tops of which are littered with crumpled napkins and half-full glasses and plates. Pulling out a vacant chair, the ex-marine gestures to his partner to sit down. Her heels slip off her feet as she does and almost instantly the Greek woman sinks in to the seat.

"I'm beginning to think that this is as close to normal as it's ever going to get for us, Mac."

Taking the seat beside her, Mac waves over a server and gives him Stella's order before responding, "Never thought I'd see the day where Stella Bonasera wanted normal."

Surprised but more by the look in her friend's eyes, the curly haired detective leaned back in her seat, her eyes wandering over the man next to her. "I suppose I wouldn't know normal if it hit me in the face, huh?"

"Probably because you're anything but ordinary, Stell."

And she supposes that Mac certainly is anything but ordinary as well.

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><p>Huddled together the three of them stand over a small table in the middle of the crime lab break-room, seemingly engrossed in something that onlookers leave up their imaginations. Danny Messer, Sheldon Hawkes, and Adam Ross are talking amongst themselves, their voices quieter as to lessen the attention of whatever it is they are looking at but loud enough as to not have anyone passing by wonder why they are whispering to one another. It is a tricky craft but an important one at a time like this, where conversation is to be limited and coded so that the wrong ears do not pick up on what the first and third grade detective investigators as well as the laboratory technician are discussing. After all, it is of the utmost importance.<p>

"They haven't seen it yet, have they?" Adam Ross.

"I don't think so but I've hid all the papers just in case." Sheldon Hawkes.

"You think they'd show their faces around here if they did?" Danny Messer.

There is no _real _need to speak right now and not just because they are trying to limit the amount they talk in case one of their two supervisors comes into the break-room but the men still silently look to one another, all coming to the same conclusion that if their supervisors have seen what they are attempting to hide then the people who would want to go MIA for the day would likely be anyone but the two CSIs they are trying to hide the paper from as to not have to face the wrath of a seriously pissed off Mac Taylor and Stella Bonasera. It's common sense, really.

"Why wouldn't the people that you're talking about show their faces if they saw something?"

Watching three highly trained men leap into a proper standing position, effectively hiding what appeared to be a newspaper, momentarily distracts the Montanan CSI from whatever it is her male colleagues are hiding but only long enough for her to laugh at their mutual reaction.

"Oh, Montana, it's you."

Her lips twitch and her brow furrows just slightly, Danny won't admit he notices how cute it is too. "Yeah, the one and only. What's wrong with you guys?"

Shaking himself off because he was _not_ scared by the sudden and unanticipated arrival of his dirty-blonde friend, Sheldon reveals what is hidden behind his back and at first the lady CSI cannot understand what all the fuss is about. "Yeah so? It's an article about the mayor's party last night, what's the big deal?"

"Why dontcha take a look at the picture beneath the mayor and the massive novelty check there, Montana?"

Light brown eyes travel down the grainy newspaper, catching pictures and phrases from the evening, all shining a lovely light on the mayor and whatever benefit it was they were celebrating the night before. Then she sees it, plain as day, a picture that could possibly do a lot of damage in the near future if either of her bosses caught wind of its existence. Lindsay takes the paper from her friend's hand and gawks at the image scanned on to the page, forcing herself to believe the reality of it having been captured and circulated through out the city. The thought is mildly terrifying but the prospect of her bosses' reactions proves to be even scarier, the only redeeming thing about the picture is that it is a lovely one.

Clearly the photographer knew what he or she was doing because everything from the focus to the lighting is simply breathtaking. Not to mention the subjects, of course.

"Well _hello,_ Detectives."

Handsome as ever, Mac Taylor is seen dressed in a pressed three piece suit, black and white and official as ever. He is smiling but only slightly and it appears to be at the person who he is in the picture with. It is a small smile, not all that bashful, and it matches the look in his eye so well. Clad in a floor-length sequined gown, stands a subtly smiling Stella Bonasera, arms wound around her partner as he leads the two in a dance. Red gloves reach up to her elbows, which are folded behind Mac's neck and shoulder blades. Her eyes are bright and locked on her best friend. It helps that it's only a picture, just the two of them, the rest of the world dissolving around them.

Their bodies fit against one another wonderfully.

For only a millisecond, Lindsay feels something akin to jealousy although it is not due to the unwarranted media publicity her two friends will certainly receive for such a picture finding its way around the city, but because the look in their eyes is something that words would not have been able to grasp and of all things, it's mutual! It's hardly fair that two of the most figuratively blind people that the young Montanan knows, who just so happen to be in love with one another, are the ones who are able to communicate without so much as a syllable.

For a moment it almost makes sense to Lindsay how her superiors have yet to grow tired of eye-sex; they never verbalize their thoughts to one another! "They look great together."

"Oh yeah and I'm sure they look great splashed across page six all over the city." Sheldon points out with a half-smile, as if he's uncertain whether to be afraid or amused by the turn of events. Both, he decides, but it would probably be for the best to keep the latter to himself.

A vague expression of horror dawns over the lady CSI's face as what the four of them are thinking is spoken out loud and why is that things always seem so much more threatening when spoken aloud? It's as if these four scientific minds honestly believe that not talking about something will make it any less true. Nevertheless, the quartet of crime lab workers have absolutely no intention of allowing the truth slip to Mac or Stella since those two are the only ones who really need to not know the truth.

"Don't you guys have some spatter patterns to study or ballistics to look at?"

Simultaneously the three CSIs and lab technician jolt upright, turning to spot the impromptu arrival of their resident police officer: Detective Donald Flack Junior. With a trademark smirk, Danny nods to his friend and addresses him formally.

"Ey' Donnie-boy, what're you doin' up here? You guys run out of donuts down at the 14th?"

"Cute, Messer. Real cute. You guys get a look at the Times?" The humor is not lost on Don, who hides his smile under a sneer but cannot keep it from showing off in his bright blue eyes.

Adam, who has been quiet for the duration of the exchange, speaks up. His words come out a bit rushed, jumpy even, but it wasn't uncharacteristic by any means. Lindsay, standing beside him, smiles and pats his forearm amiably. "Yeah and the Post, Gazette, _and _Metro. I mentioned the Wall Street Journal, right?"

"Wall Street?" Don emits a low whistle. "Impressive."

Punching his Irish-American friend slightly, plucks the paper from the Montana CSI, and thrusts the offending picture in the taller man's face. "Not if Mom and Dad of the lab get wind of it."

"Okay,_ ow,_ no need to pull out the big guns, you know Danno."

But what Don says is true and the two CSIs and lab technician know this for fact; Mac and Stella do not enjoy publicity. Mac was never one to be in the spotlight, preferring to work silently behind the scenes and to modestly shrug off any praise. Stella, on the other hand, had never required reassurance for anything she did and didn't take too kindly to bureaucratic criticism, which she had received plenty of when she started as Mac's partner.

Wait until they get a load of this.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Thank you for reading! :)


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